


quicksand

by Anonymous



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Miya Atsumu-centric, Sad Miya Atsumu, Suicidal Thoughts, hints of depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27524995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: and here you are livingdespite it all- rupi kaurAtsumu's guide on navigating quicksand.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Comments: 1
Kudos: 130
Collections: Anonymous





	quicksand

**Author's Note:**

> //tw// In case you skipped the tags: mentions of self harm, suicidal thoughts, depression. Please don't read if this is something that triggers you.
> 
> its sad boi hours

The tiles are cold.

It grounds him, acts as a tether as he floats in his thoughts. Red seeps into his shorts and a distant part of him groans at the laundry he'll have to do tomorrow.

* * *

The paint is starting to peel off the poles.

It's an idle observation made by a benched setter, a detached finding quickly lost in the sea of conflicting, spiraling thoughts.

The sound of gym sneakers on wooden floors drags him back to reality. Osamu frowns down at him, questions swimming in his eyes. He shrugs.

The walk to the bus stop is slow, sluggish.

* * *

The wind whistles in his ears.

Gloved hands tucked tightly into pockets, he leans over the edge, peering down at the traffic below.

He gauges the distance, takes a deep breath.

Turns around and leaves.

[ _Too messy, too much time to regret his choice._ ]

* * *

His nails accidently scrap against the binding. He shivers at the noise. 

Fumes of vanilla brush past him during lunch hour. He has to fight to keep down his onigiri. 

Today, the jabs cut a little deeper, the sneers a little sharper, the voices a little louder. The itch to throw his fists or snap out a callous remark has him digging in his nails and gritting his teeth; his sigh of relief when the bell finally rings, draws a concerned glance from Gin. He waves him off.

The next day he finds chocolates and scented candles with an accompanying note in his locker. He shows it off to the other second years with a vain one-liner and haughty upturn of his nose. Osamu smacks him. Rin leaves them both behind.

Sleep comes quickly for him for the first time in months, room fragrant with the scent of pine and lavender as the candles burn.

* * *

Overdosing on Tylenol is not as romantic as the media portrays it to be.

Hours of research behind locked doors and under the cov ~~e~~ r of midnight dissuades him from stocking up on the pills. It's silly and pathetic, but the realization that there's one less _ways to die_ on his list pisses him off. That night is spend in angry tears and muffled sniveling.

* * *

The smell of freshly baked bread draws Osamu from his hibernation. Seated on the kitchen counter and half covered in flour, he stares at his brother as Osamu pauses to take in the mess he made.

"...Did they turn out good?"

"Yeah."

It doesn't take long for the four loaves to disappear. The clock reads 3:00 AM.

* * *

The canvas mocks him from its place in the corner of his room.

A part of Osamu's stationary haul, his brother had bought it to even out the numbers for a discount. The bag had been dumped to the side as soon as it was tossed to him; his mind too numb then to gather up the strength to indulge in a new piece. 

He wants to change that.

He takes in a shuddering breath, then drags it from its corner of shame to plop it onto the easel. Slanted green eyes flash before him as he stares at the blank material, and he pauses, then scrambles for his sketchbook. A new tab is hurriedly opened simultaneously; oranges and browns dancing across his screen as he pulls up reference pictures.

A quick sketch determines the placement and then it's copied onto the canvas. 

It's a slow start at first; months of not picking up his brush has rusted his skills and it takes a while to relearn the movements. Once he gets that down, he's lost to the world; minutes blur into hours as the paints and the colors overwhelm him. 

When he emerges from his room at sundown, he leaves behind a hyper realistic portrait of a fox and there's a skip to his step that was missing all those few months.

[ _The eyes are bit too spaced, the ears asymmetrical, and the paws are the wrong shade of brown, but for once he brushes off the discomfort of those minute flaws; they can come back to haunt him another day._ ]

His mom grins when she sees him and he finds himself mirroring her brilliant smile; well at least before Osamu points out his ruined shirt and jeans.

* * *

They loose the Interhigh Finals.

_One_ miserable set is all they manage to weasel out of Itachiyama, and as much as it frustrates him to say, it's a deserved win.

Their team's solid defense, their ace's power spikes and annoying spin, their libero's freakishly good sixth sense; it's both delightful and infuriating. 

The burden of the loss is hard but he knows he did his part as the setter. He holds on to that self-assurance throughout the awards ceremony and on the bus ride to their hotel.

It is only after the city has gone to sleep that Osamu rolls around to face him. 

Consolatory words aren't needed anymore; silent sobs and runny noses finally betray their true emotions. 

Around them, sniffles echo.

* * *

He dyes his hair pink.

Osamu shakes his head when he sees him the next morning but that afternoon is spend dutifully sitting on the edge of their bathtub as ash-grey turns teal.

* * *

Dinner is skipped in favor of practicing out in their backyard. 

Osamu joins him wordlessly. 

They do not go back inside until their mom threatens the confiscation of their consoles.

* * *

The box-cutter is disinfected twice every week.

* * *

His room is starting to get cluttered.

* * *

The shower water is near scalding.

* * *

Pink turns orange. Orange turns purple. Purple turns blue. 

* * *

His clothes are baggier now. 

They hang off his frame limply as new rivulets run down his face; he cannot recognize the stranger in the bathroom mirror. 

* * *

He wipes his face.

* * *

Chocolate chip cookies are hard to master. 

It takes seven nights and a day to find the perfect temperature, the exact amount of time.

Osamu and Rin serve as disposal chutes for his failed attempts. There's not much complaints from the other end about the role.

* * *

He throws out the craft scissors and blades.

Osamu is always there to haggle if needed.

* * *

Blue turns piss-blond. Green turns ash-grey.

Gin's exclamation of relief at the reversion is a tad bit too dramatic, Rin's sigh is taken as a direct slight.

[ _They tackle him to the floor when they see the bingo card; he'd wanted them to cycle through the rainbow._ ]

* * *

Morning runs slip into his routine. Workout days are irregular; mostly because he sleeps through the alarm but changes are starting to show.

Most importantly, his skin starts to clear.

* * *

He takes a trip to a hairdresser.

His roots and dye-job are tittered at, but the length goes back up to something manageable, his undercut redefined.

Sukiyaki draws him out for dinner that night; his dad cracks a few jokes about bottomless pits as he shovels down his fourth serving.

* * *

His thighs are back to their watermelon-crushable state.

He celebrates the occasion with a trip to the drugstore. His black nail polish is almost completely dried out anyway.

[ _A few mirror selfies are also send to their resident number 10. Body positivity and all that jazz._ ]

* * *

They win their practice match against Kamomedai High.

It's liberating.

[ _Validating._ ]

* * *

The box cutter is the last to go. 

* * *

The group chat lights up as they discuss a possible vacation. Five messages in and Atsumu grins as he starts a heated argument with Akagi about floral prints, the original topic of discussion quickly forgotten. 

From across the room, Osamu chucks a pillow at him as he continues riling up their libero; a projectile he doges with ease and then returns while texting with a single hand. Rin lays sprawled out on the bed, chortling at the insults flying to-and-fro as it escalates into a pillow fight; a sound which dissolves into a squawk as Atsumu nails him on the head with a plushie.

They end up getting their nails smudged but Atsumu finds that he doesn't really mind. 

He's found his branches after all.

**Author's Note:**

> My therapist in the corner like: ,,,,bRUh
> 
> Jokes aside, please reach out if you find yourself struggling; someone _will_ be there to pull you out, be it a trained professional, a friend with similar experiences, a trusted adult, etc. Don't forget, [hotlines](https://www.suicidestop.com/call_a_hotline.html) are also a thing.


End file.
